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The Advent wreath is said to have originated in Germany in the sixteenth century. However, the forerunner of the wreath, as we recognise it today, was invented in 1839 by a Lutheran pastor who worked with the poor in Hamburg, Germany. Children at the mission school he worked in would ask, each day of Advent, if it was nearly Christmas; prompting the pastor to decorate a large cartwheel with twenty-four small red candles and four large white ones. He lit one red candle on each successive day from Monday to Saturday, and one white candle on each successive Sunday during the period of advent; helping the children to see for themselves when Christmas was approaching. The custom grew amongst Protestant churches in Germany, and gradually a smaller wreath with five candles evolved. It took almost another hundred years for the custom to spread to the Roman Catholic church and the wider world. The circular wreath symbolises the infinite, unending love of God. Wreaths are mainly made of evergreen foliage which represents the hope of eternal life brought by Jesus Christ. The four candles (still traditionally red in most UK churches, but can be violet and rose to correspond with the liturgical colours) represent the four weeks of Advent, and symbolise the light of God coming into the world by the birth of Jesus. However, each candle specifically symbolises hope, peace, joy and love, as each is lit throughout the four weeks of Advent. A fifth white candle known as the ‘Christ candle’ symbolises the arrival of Christmastide and is first lit on Christmas Eve, the beginning of Christmastide, and may be lit throughout the Christmas season as well as during Epiphanytide. 
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On Thursday afternoon, a group of aspiring artists have been under the direction of the talented Lori Hanson (Oil Painter) Caroline was so inspired by Lori, the classes, Monet and her new gift of crying she travelled to Scotland. She writes "With fabulous patient teaching from Lori, a group of us turned a blank canvas into a Monet! This inspired me to visit the National Art Gallery of Scotland to look at more of Monet's paintings " From our wonderful Lay Minister Carol-ann Howe We spent a day in Naples this June, before heading quickly to the more scenic Amalfi Coast. Naples has beautiful bones but is run down, drowning in litter and swarming with scooters- not the most glamorous of the Italian cities. Gritty might be a nice word. But on one dark back street a centuries old tradition continues, with the manufacture of presepi. These are nativity scenes ranging in size from miniatures to sit on a table to filling whole basements (photo of the basement one below), and tourists can see the craftsmen working away in their shops on their creations even in the heat of June. The magic of the presepi is the detail found within, these nativity scenes often depict entire villages going about their work, women doing their laundry, each item of clothing tiny and perfect, functioning water mills, the baker making tiny ciabattas, and nowadays may even include celebrity figurines, mostly footballers it seems, standing next to the goatherder and his animals. While looking at a presepi what does not jump out at you at first glance is the nativity itself. The baby in the manger is often hidden away in a tiny stable, lost behind the greengrocer’s shop and the family eating lunch. It is almost an aside, the baby, his parents, and sometimes the Magi and some tiny animals, it is rarely in the centre, and in the photo below, it is not one of the parts that is lit. We have to search for it, the sacred is hidden behind the everyday and the profane. But it is there, within the beautiful chaos of everyday village life, the divine is there. Heaven on earth, quietly changing the world while the world (and Maradona) rush around without noticing it. It isn’t easy to find that baby in the manger within the distractions and bustle, but it is worth the effort.   
We give heartfelt thanks to Reverend Paul, who has lovingly shepherded St John’s during our time without a resident priest. Many will remember him as our vicar in the late 1980s — and how fitting it has been that, all these years later, he returned once more to walk beside us in this season of waiting.
Through his gentle leadership, faithful preaching, and steadfast care, Reverend Paul has reminded us that the Church is never truly without a shepherd — for Christ himself is the Good Shepherd who guides us all. Yet, how blessed we have been to have Reverend Paul’s steady presence reflecting that divine care among us. As we look ahead with hope to the next chapter in our parish life, we give thanks for all he has given — his wisdom, humour, and prayerful devotion. Though today marks his final Sunday in this season of ministry with us, we rejoice that he will still be part of our wider family, stepping in when needed. “And I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding.” — Jeremiah 3:15 Thank you, Reverend Paul — for guiding, teaching, and loving this community so well. Greetings! I realise that this newsletter goes to far more people than just the congregations of St John's and Holy Innocents, so as the new House for Duty Priest, I thought it might be worth starting by saying a bit about myself and Jenny, and also what that role title means.
I was born in Hull but, from the age of five, was brought up in Lymm, Cheshire, just south west of Manchester. After leaving school at sixteen and working for Barclays Bank for three years, I returned to education, ending up at Warwick University, studying Philosophy and Sociology. While there, I met Jenny and we got married in September 1982 at St Just-in- Roseland, Cornwall, near the farm where Jenny grew up. While at Warwick, both Jenny and I returned to the Christian faith in which we had grown up and it wasn't long before I started exploring the possibility of ordination. In 1984, I began training at Ridley Hall Cambridge and was ordained in Durham Cathedral in 1987. After six years in the Durham Diocese (South Shields and Newton Aycliffe), and with our sons Ed and George, we moved south when I was appointed Chaplain of Ripon and York St John and Minor Canon at Ripon Cathedral. After further posts at Bedale, Leeming and Thornton Watlass, and St Edmund's Roundhay in Leeds, we moved to St Columba's by the Castle, Edinburgh in 2016 from where I "retired" last October. Jenny also "retired" the same time. Over the years, she has worked as a teaching assistant in a primary school and with adults with learning difficulties, though in the main she has been a mother and home maker. We have always worked together as a team in our approach to ministry and, while in Leeds, Jenny was licensed as Reader. Her ministry has been expressed predominantly in preaching, community and environmental engagement. After retiring we moved to Gloucestershire to be nearer to our sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren (who live near Watford and in Southampton). We imagined that we would never ever move again. and yet after nine months, through a strange sequence of events, it became blindingly obvious that we were being called to come back north, to take up this post. "House for Duty" is a role without a stipend but, in return for Sundays and two days a week, we are provided with a house and things like council tax, water rates, repairs etc taken care of. The main challenge of the role is going to be learning how to do ministry on a part time basis when my DNA, laid down over many years, is to do it full-time. However the gift of this role is to allow us to be part of a wonderful, inclusive, hospitable, caring and prayerful community, in a lovely parish, on the edge of a city we are very fond of, in an area of natural beauty that we love dearly. The gift also allows me time to reconnect with friends from the past spread across the region; to be a four-time grandparent (albeit with more travelling); to continue to work on my second murder mystery novel; and just to take things a bit easier as anno domini hurry by. Jenny and I are delighted to be back in North Yorkshire and are so grateful to the Diocese for their work on the house (which was in need of quite a bit of TLC) and to the people of the two churches for their warm and generous welcome. I would like to end by echoing words from Dag Hammarskjöld, one time Secretary General of the United Nations: "For all that has been "Thanks!"; to all that will be "Yes!" David
Lucy, Amy and Caroline went to the beautiful village of Lastingham on Sunday 26th October for Evensong, followed by a delicious afternoon tea and then listened to The Archbishop of York, Stephen Cottrell, deliver this year’s Lastingham Lecture on the life and legacy of St Cedd and how his example can teach the Church today about discipleship and mission. Speaking in the church at Lastingham, where St Cedd founded a monastery and is buried, the Archbishop reflected on Cedd’s ministry across Lindisfarne, Bradwell-on-Sea, Lastingham and Whitby. He used Cedd’s example to show how the early English Church grew through communities that grounded people in their Christian faith and inspired them to share it with others. "The monastery at Lindisfarne was not a place of retreat from the world, but a place of formation and sending,” said Archbishop Stephen. “Cedd learned there how to live the Christian life and how to share it with others — and that same calling belongs to every Christian today.” The Archbishop connected Cedd’s story with the challenges and opportunities facing the Church of England today. He spoke about the need for every church to be a school of discipleship, encouraging a renewed focus on formation, storytelling and pilgrimage as ways of sharing the Christian faith. Archbishop Stephen contributed three reflections exploring Cedd’s example to a series exploring English saints and places of pilgrimage expected to appear in the Church of England’s Everyday Faith app and print next year. One way this vision is being carried forward is through Faith in the North, a movement emerging from conversations across the Northern Province of the Church of England. Faith in the North seeks to encourage and support discipleship and prayer, to help Christians share their stories of faith and help enable growth in church planting and revitalisation, hoping to see 3,000 New Worshipping Communities across the North. Faith in the North is offering free resources for individuals, churches and schools to help them explore the Lord’s Prayer, pilgrimage, heritage and baptism over the next three years. “Cedd reminds us that to bring people to Jesus is to bring them into community,” he said. “The Church is the body of Christ — a place where we learn to live, serve, and love together for the sake of the world.” Archbishop Stephen commended St Cedd’s example of faith, humility and mission: “In every age, the Church is called to live the same story — to know and follow Jesus, to form communities of love and service, and to be sent out in his name.” *Extract from the Archbishop of York's' social media.
🌿 The Prayer Tree at St John’s In the heart of our church stands something new, simple, beautiful, and full of hope — our Prayer Tree. Each ribbon tied to its branches represents a prayer — a whisper of thanks, a cry for help, a name held in love. Some are for the world, some for family, some for the quiet longings of our own hearts. Together they form a living tapestry of faith, a visible reminder that God listens, and that we are never alone. Everyone is welcome to take a moment, pause, and add their own prayer. Simply take a ribbon from the basket, offer your prayer silently or aloud, and tie your ribbon to the tree. Whether your prayer is for healing, peace, gratitude, or guidance, it becomes part of something larger — the shared prayer life of our community. As the winter sun descends, the ribbons move gently in the light — a symbol of the Spirit moving among us, carrying our prayers beyond words. Come and see. Come and pray. Our Prayer Tree is always there — waiting quietly, ready to hold whatever is on your heart.  Reflections on a visit to Tyne Cot cemetery near Passendale site of 3rd battle of Ypres July 1917 The deathly silence was broken by the roar of motorbikes Old and Young out on a Sunday morning on a breakfast run Young men out to have some fun And yet, these young men who lay here buried below Cold in their graves under the sun Young men whose lives were taken while still so young The sound of the motorbikes dissipate And the silence returns And I reflect again on those young men, On what they could have become, what potential lies buried beneath my feet And later on the same day as we attend a nightly remembrance under the Mennin Gate, the crowd becomes silent as the buglers play" The Last Post" the sound carried aloft and heavenward. So emotive, so evocative as the last note hangs in the air. The crowd dispenses in silence as they carry with themselves the memory of so many young lives lost in the futility of war Lesley Whitley August 2025   As July dawns, the Church finds herself deep in the long green season of Ordinary Time — a time that is anything but ordinary. These summer days, ablaze with light, invite us to contemplate the eternal radiance of God’s kingdom, breaking forth even in the midst of a fractured world. It is a month strewn with feasts and memories, of saints and martyrs whose lives whisper of heaven’s nearness.
Among those we commemorate are Thomas the Apostle (3 July), who dared to touch the wounded Christ and became a bold witness to the risen Lord — reminding us that faith often emerges through the honest struggle with doubt. On 22 July, we honour Mary Magdalene, apostola apostolorum, first herald of the Resurrection, whose tears at the empty tomb were turned into proclamation. And on 25 July, the Church turns toward St James the Apostle, son of thunder and martyr of Jerusalem, reminding us that discipleship is a road both radiant and rugged. These saints are not distant relics of memory but vibrant companions who testify to the ongoing story of grace. As theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar once wrote, “The saints are sent so that the light of Christ may not go out in the world.” Their feasts anchor us, even as the long days stretch out like golden psalms over field and fen, summoning us into deeper communion with one another and with God. In this season, the created order itself seems to lift its voice in praise. Gardens flourish, churches fill with the scent of flowers and Tony’s wood polish, and conversations linger at the thresholds of homes and sanctuaries. Community — sacred, messy, incarnational — becomes the living liturgy of July. The Kingdom is near, not only in the chalice and the creed, but in laughter shared across garden fences, in the elderly parishioner’s quiet wisdom, in the barefoot child trailing dandelions across the churchyard. Yet, while the sunlight dances through stained glass and hedgerow alike, we cannot ignore the shadows that stretch across the global landscape. The world teeters dangerously close to the precipice of further war — from Gaza to Ukraine, from Sudan to silent battlegrounds within fractured societies. In this hour, we turn again to the God who “makes wars cease to the ends of the earth” (Psalm 46:9), and we dare to pray for peace, not as passive hope, but as costly commitment. A Prayer for Peace Lord of Hosts and Prince of Peace, in a world riven with conflict and bruised by pride, grant us the courage to be peacemakers in your name. Let swords be beaten into ploughshares, and the cries of the innocent be turned into songs of justice. May your Church be a place of refuge, your people bearers of light in every darkness, and your Kingdom come — not only in heaven, but here, amid the wild and waiting fields of July. Through Christ our Lord, Amen. This month, may we not grow weary in our calling. Let us gather in worship and word, in bread and prayer, knowing that the Spirit is at work — quietly sowing seeds of renewal in our midst. As St Augustine reminds us, “In loving our neighbour, we prepare our eyes to see God.” Let July be a hymn: sung under open skies, held by ancient rhythms, and charged with the holy possibility of transformation. Some months ago, I came across a sermon series by the marvellous Pete Grieg. It highlights how, even amongst Christians, we often shy away from discussing our personal encounters with the Holy, our faith journeys and the miracles that happen all around us. The profound moments that give us a belief, or, the lifelong relationships with Christ. We so often shy away from topics of gifts, signs, wonders or even spiritual warfare. It’s entirely understandable why we don't discuss these personal moments. But, I invite you to open up, share your faith story and see who you can inspire. So very grateful to Bridget for sharing her journey in Christianity.  Some months ago, I came across a sermon series by the marvellous Pete Grieg. It highlights how, even amongst Christians, we often shy away from discussing our personal encounters, our faith journeys and the miracles that happen all around us. The profound moments that give us a belief, or, the lifelong relationships with Christ.
As a child I sat between my dad, who had a fine tenor voice and my mum, in Erdington Methodist church in Birmingham. I was surrounded by my extended family. My parents and grandparents seemed to know everybody. Church was very sociable. I enjoyed singing the hymns and my mum made sure I stopped fidgeting especially to say the Lords Prayer. In the Sunday School room was a picture of Jesus, children sitting at his feet, with the words “Suffer the little children to come unto me”. I found the illustration fascinating and comforting. Later when I could understand the words I was singing, the line from the Christmas Carol “What can I give Him, give Him my heart” had a big effect on me. I carried on regularly attending church, even briefly becoming a Sunday School teacher, until I came to Leeds as a student. I turned my back on all things church, but the foundation of my faith was deep inside. I meet my first husband, Liam, through a friend. Liam was a Northern Ireland Catholic. It was the hight of The Troubles. On my first visit to Newry in 1990, I thought I would be shot because I was English and a non-Catholic, but I was made to feel very welcome and regularly attended Mass. When Liam and I got married in Guiseley Methodist church, Cannon Harold Parker from Ripon Catholic church took part in the service. At Liam’s funeral in Ripon Catholic Church, Rev Andrew Howarth who had married us, gave the Address. Liam and I had decided our son Will would be brought up a Catholic, go to St Wilfrid’s Catholic School. When visiting Birmingham we also attended the Methodist church. Now I’m happily married to David and so much part of St John’s wonderful community. Ringing the bells to let the village know the church is here and open for business! When I sing in church, on Sunday or with Ripon Choral Society at rehearsals, and at the Cathedral, the words have a profound effect on me. “And in a still voice, onward came the Lord” from Mendelsohn Elijah recently reminded me to stop, listen and “be still in the presence of the Lord”. " |
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